


Passive-Aggressive Undertaking

by rw_eaden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic Dean Winchester, Aromantic Meg Masters, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Biting, Business Rivals, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fist Fights, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, M/M, Morticians, Multi, Open Relationships, Pansexual Arthur Ketch, Poly V, Polyamory, Prank Wars, Rough Sex, funeral homes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/rw_eaden
Summary: Dean hates Arthur Ketch. It's bad enough that the asshole keeps stealing his clients, but once they get caught up in a prank war the bastard has the audacity to actually be good at that, too. Meg thinks they should just fuck it out, but Dean's determined that he's going to win this one.





	Passive-Aggressive Undertaking

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize that there isn't a universe in which funeral homes might open up basically across the street from each other, but the whole title pun was too much fun to pass up. Suspend your disbelief, por favor.

“That motherfucker,” Dean hissed, jerking away from the blinds. He turned away from the window, crossing his arms over his chest, huffing.

“What’d Arty do now?” Meg asked. She was across the room, polishing the dark wood of the china cabinet across the room.

“The Adlers,” Dean said, “he sniped the Adlers.”

“Ouch,” Meg said, pulling a butterscotch candy out of her pocket and plopping it in her mouth.

“I’ve been waiting five years for that bastard Zachariah to die and what happens? Fucking Ketch swipes him right from under my nose. I was this close!” Dean held up two fingers, less than a centimeter of space between them.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have exclusive rights to dead folks, Dean,” Meg said around her candy.

“They picked out a casket!”

“Yeah, but they didn’t start paying for it,” Meg said.

Dean sighed. For years, he and Meg had been the premier funeral providers for Salina and the surrounding small Kansas towns. Most people didn’t want to drive all the way to Wichita to handle the care of their dead relatives, and Dean had found himself dealing with entire lines of families, arranging for caskets and funeral plots for entire generations of families, like his grandfather before him. It was a morbid business, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. For the most part, all he had to do was provide a solid and sympathetic presence, guiding grieving family members through the final decisions they’d ever make for their loved ones. He didn’t do the embalming; that he left to Meg and Ash, who always made sure to make the departed look as life like and peaceful as possible.

It was a good business, and one he didn’t have to worry too much about competition in – that was until Arthur Ketch moved in across the street. Ketch decided to open up his own funeral home about a year prior, and he’d been steadily creeping on Dean’s business the entire time. It wasn’t even like he had better services or lower prices or anything like that because Dean had checked. If anything, he was gouging the hell out of people with the price of cremations and transportation. It was probably that fucking accent. Stupid British dude and his charming accent and his charismatic “I’m so good at this and you should trust me because I’m posh and shit” attitude. Fuck him.

Dean turned around, parting the blinds again and glaring out the window. There was Mrs. Adler, all dressed in black and walking into her car, trailed by her many children. The Herse was already waiting at the end of the parking lot, ready to drive out into traffic and take Adler to the graveyard. Damn. That man had wanted a massive headstone, too.

 “That’s at least $20,000 driving away from us right now,” Dean said.

Meg scoffed. “You know, the way you talk people would think you’re some kind of dirtbag mooching off grieving old ladies.”

“You know it’s not like that,” Dean said.

“I know,” Meg said, coming up behind him, setting her hand on his shoulder, “still. It’s not that important. This is what? One account this month? We’re still in the green. It’s just one client.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I know, but it’s the principal of the thing.”

“Dean, hon, we make stupid money off grieving people who only need a few minor prods and pokes to buy ‘hermetically sealed caskets’” she used freaking finger quotes and everything, “that just blow up anyway. We’re not the most squeaky clean in terms of truth and fairness. So this dickhead snapped up one of your clients, it’s not the end of the world.”

“You have a knack for making everything sound way worse than it actually is, you know that?”

“One of my many talents.”

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning over to kiss the top of her hand.

“Ugh,” she snorted, batting Dean’s head away playfully.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a stiff to look after?”

Meg snorted. “Fine, fine. Be that way. I’ll be in the back if you wanna bitch about your boyfriend some more,” she said, letting her hand slip down Dean’s back. She sauntered off towards the back room.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dean hollered back.

* * *

 

“Goddammit!” Dean shouted, throwing the morning paper down on the kitchen table.

“What now?” Meg asked. Though he didn’t sigh or scoff at him (this time) Dean could tell by the flat tone of her voice that she was absolutely exasperated by him.

“Ketch did it again.”

“Did what?” She pushed the pedal down on the toaster, leaning back against the counter and sipping her coffee.

“You remember Naomi Milton?”

“Not especially.”

“She was a state senator for a while. Not important. Anyway, her memorial service is going to be at Ketch’s.” 

“Ouch.”

“I buried her mother!” Dean put his coffee cup to his lips, but it was empty. He glared down at it like it was somehow the cause of his distress.

Meg shrugged, grabbing her pop tarts as the toaster shot them out.

Dean pulled a face, mocking her shrug. “Is that really all you have to say about it?”

She sighed, plopping down in the chair across from him. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve commiserated. I’ve offered advice. I gave you a blowie. I don’t know what else you want me to do. Ketch is a dick. A weirdly hot dick, but a dick. You’re gonna lose business to him and that’s just the way it is.”

Dean scowled at her. “He’s not hot.”

“You don’t think so? I figured he’d be right up your alley. Dark hair, strong jaw, looks like he could throw your subby ass around…”

“Okay! Not the point! The point is: I need to figure out what to do about this.”

“You mean other than spending more on advertising and moving on like a grown up?”

“Yes, other than spending money on ads. I’ve got to do something to keep him from stealing business.”

“Like?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Just don’t get arrested,” Meg said, biting into her pop tart, “I’m not bailing you out of jail. Again.”

“That was one time.”

Meg shook her head, brushing the crumbs away from her lips. “So, what are you thinking?”

“Yelp reviews.”

Meg snorted.

“What?”

“Yelp? Seriously? I don’t think anyone looks at Yelp when they’re looking to bury grandma.”

“Maybe I should send him a glitter bomb.”

Meg cackled at that. “You’re gonna send glitter to a funeral home?”

“Yeah! Why not? That’s a good idea right! No one gets hurt. Well, maybe his stupid fucking suit gets hurt. Plus no one is gonna want to deal with a dude covered in glitter when he’s not supposed to be.”

Meg shook her head, licking cherry pop tart filling off her fingers. “Whatever trips your trigger.”

Two short weeks later, Dean was pleased to see, while he was chatting with the landscaper in the parking lot, Ketch walking out of his funeral home, suit jacket off and tucked under his arm, the faintest glimmer of pink reflecting light in his hair. Dean waved, smirking.

* * *

 

“Sonofabitch!” Dean yelled. He really should have known.

Meg rushed in, mask and gloves still on when she pushed through the door of his office. “What the fuck happened?”

Dean sighed, picking up the small cardboard tube on his desk, spring hanging out of the open end. “The fucker got me back,” he said.

Meg sighed, leaning over the desk and picking up one of the shiny purple cut outs. “He sent you dicks.” She chortled.

“Yup.”

“He sent you glittery purple dicks.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve seen then,” Dean said gesturing to his front. There were glittery little dicks clinging to the front of his pants and his suit jacket. Thankfully they were better than the usual, microscopic craft herpes he’d sent Ketch, but this was almost worse. Greeting customers with glitter all over you made you look like an idiot, but greeting customers with glitter dicks all over you made you look like an immature idiot.

“You think you could stop by the house and get me some pants when you go for lunch?” Dean asked.

“No way, dude. You got yourself into this mess, you get your own pants,” Meg said.

“But you’re getting lunch in like,” Dean glanced at his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“So you want me to waste my lunch hour getting both of us food, then go out of my way to get you pants when you could just go do it yourself?”

“I can’t go out in public like this.”

“You won’t be in public. All you have to do is walk to the parking lot.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Not gonna happen,” Meg sang, walking out the office door.

“You’re the worst, Meg,” Dean called out.

“Eat me!”

Dean sighed, looking down at his lap. He could probably get out of and into the car relatively easily, but then he’d track glitter dicks into the car, too.

When he got to the door of the Impala, he noticed Ketch, standing in his own parking lot next to his bike, smirking but not looking directly at Dean.

“That’s it,” Dean said once he closed the Impala door, “I’m sending him a dick.”

* * *

 

Dean was kind of an asshole. He could have chosen to send Ketch a dick from one of those internet sex shops, the ones that only shipped things in discrete packages, but there wasn’t any fun in that. How would he know that Ketch even got it if he didn’t get to see the aftermath? Plus he doubted it would cause the significant embarrassment he’d hoped it would. So, instead, Dean went to his usual place and bought a whole ten inches of realistic rubber cock complete with suction cup. It set him back about forty bucks, which was probably a little too much to pay for a little passive-aggressive revenge, but fuck it.

Shortly after the funeral home opened at seven in the morning and all the employees were in their places, Dean sprinted across the parking lot, licked the suction cup, and stuck it to the leather seat of Ketch’s bike.

Yeah, Dean was an asshole.

* * *

 

It had been a long ass day. Dean had spent the day dealing with a couple of new clients, of them a young couple with a child who was way too interested in the caskets for a normal four-year-old, an old woman and her daughter who was more interested in keeping costs down than she was what her mom wanted, and a family that wanted to bury their son who’d recently died in a car accident. Needless to say, it was not a great day.

Dean was ready to just go home and pass out on the couch for a week. When he pulled onto the highway, however, that all changed. There was a strange, humming noise coming from inside the car. Dean immediately turned off the radio and shushed Meg, even though she wasn’t saying anything.

“Do you hear that?” He said, leaning into the dash as much as he could without taking his eyes off the road.

“Is that… humming?” Meg asked.

“That’s what it sounds like,” Dean said. Fuck. That’s just what he needed today. “I’m gonna pull over,” Dean said.

Meg didn’t have a chance to object before Dean was pulling off to the shoulder and flicking on the hazards. The humming stopped before Dean shut off the car, but Dean stepped out anyway, peeling his suit jacket off and rolling up his sleeves. He lifted the hood, peering down at the engine. Nothing seemed amiss. The fan and fan belt were fine, the engine block seemed okay, and all the hoses were fine. There wasn’t anything wrong with anything, as far as Dean could tell.

Dean got down in the dirt, looking under the car, just on the off chance that something had gotten lodged under the car. Nothing. Dean shook his head, sighing and getting back into the car and starting it up again. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the humming to return.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “You’re hearing this right?”

Meg nodded, and Dean pulled off to the shoulder yet again. This time, Meg go out of the car with him.

“What do you think it is?” Meg asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” Dean grumbled. Still, nothing seemed off. “What time is it?”

“Six,” Meg said, glancing down at her phone.

“Fuck,” Dean grumbled. “Bobby’s garage isn’t gonna be open.”

“It’s not gonna blow up on us if we just drive it home, is it?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know. Probably not. I have a toolbox in the trunk. I wanna check the tire pressure real quick.”

Meg stepped back, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “Tires? Really?”

“I just wanna check,” Dean said, leaning into the open car door and pulling the keys out of the ignition. “I wanna make sure it’s not something stupid before I start looking at other shit.”

He had the trunk open when Meg spoke again. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Dean asked.

“This thing, here in the grill right here.”

Dean set the small toolbox down in the dirt. “What thing in the grill?”

“This thing,” Meg reached down at the grill, pulling at something. “I think it’s taped.”

“The fuck?” Dean walked over, leaving the trunk open as Meg pulled up whatever was stuck there. She laughed, holding it out to Dean.

“What?” He took in the little lump of tape and flimsy white plastic. It had several rectangular holes along the front. Dean scowled. “It’s a fucking harmonica.”

Meg burst into laughter as Dean took the harmonica, doubling over on herself.

“A fucking harmonica! You’ve got to be kidding me! That dick!” He chucked the tape covered toy towards the open field on the side of the road.

“Okay,” Meg said, catching her breath, “but you’ve got to admit, that was really fucking clever.”

“It was fucking cruel is what it was.”

“Oh come on. It’s not like he really fucked with your car. That’s funny.”

Dean huffed, pouted as he slammed the hood closed a little topo hard. “Get in the car, Meg.”

Meg giggled the whole way home while Dean sulked, coming up with his next plan.

* * *

 

Two months later the feud between Dean and Ketch was still in full swing with no real signs of stopping. Things had steadily increased as well, though they were thankfully just short of need to get authorities involved, even if writing “Honk if you’re Horny” on the windows of the hearses in paint marker was technically vandalism. Also, thankfully, their vehicles had remained off limits after Dean retaliated for Ketch’s cling wrap around the Impala trick by putting Ketch’s bike in the bed of someone else’s truck. Dean sure was glad that he caught the intercepted floral arrangement one, though. It would have been beyond mortifying to show up to a funeral with a wreath that read “Congratulations on your Engagement”.

Dean also had a suspicion that Ketch had figured out a way into his business, in fact, he was positive of it, if for no other reason than that he had done the same damn thing. Granted, his was just to plant whoopee cushions in the best strategic places (under couch cushions in the lobby, wedged in the hinges of a few of the caskets of sale, and, of course on Ketch’s desk chair). When Dean walked into his office and slammed his knee directly into his deck, he’d known without a doubt that he’d been infiltrated as well. (Okay, so that was technically breaking and entering, too, but Dean wasn’t going to call the cops on Ketch for moving his freaking furniture.)

It had been three days without any sort of retaliation from Ketch when Dean found him in the casket showroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” Dean asked.

Ketch turned around, leaning up against one of the solid walnut caskets, bottle of scotch in hand.

“I wasn’t aware there was a rule against being in here during business hours,” Ketch said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Ketch?”

“I propose a truce,” Ketch said, raising his right hand and the bottle of scotch therein.

“You givin’ up that easy?” Dean asked, “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“I suppose you haven’t found the tarantula yet, then.”

“What tarantula?”

“Never mind. The point is this has gone on long enough wouldn’t you say?”

Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sounds like something someone would say when he’s all out of ideas.”

Ketch huffed. “Right. I could easily drag this out until kingdom come if that’s what you really want. But as it is we both had to deal with each other. We see each other every day and unless you want to continue to drive us both insane with pranks and retaliations and potential clients turned away I’d say it’s in both of our interests to act like adults and sort this out.”

“So this is you being the bigger man then?”

“Naturally.” Ketch’s eyes skimmed up and down Dean’s form and Dean couldn’t help scoffing.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Art. Sounds to me like you’re just certain you’re gonna lose but whatever. You wanna call and end to this, fine, we call and end to it, but you need to quit sniping my business.”

“Your business?”

“Yeah. The Alders, the Milton’s, the Richardson’s. They were practically done deals until you showed up and grabbed them right from under my nose.”

“Perhaps you’ve just grown complacent. You were the only funeral home in the area for quite some time. Maybe your former customers enjoy having an option.”

“Please. You’re not special. If anything you’re more expensive than I am.”

“Perhaps. But I’m charming.”

“You’re somethin’ alright.”

“As I was saying – “

“Nope. I’m not dropping this. You stop swiping my customers or I’m going to continue sticking cellophane dicks to your windows and whatever else I can think of.”

“That’s mature of you,” Ketch said, smiling.

“Oh, fuck you. You started it with the dick glitter.”

“Only because you send me glitter first.”

“Because you swiped my clients!”

Ketch rolled his eyes, setting the bottle of scotch down on the closed lid of the coffin he’d been leaning on. He strode over and walked right into Dean’s space. “What do you expect from me? Should I ask your permission before I can take on any new clients? Perhaps you just can’t handle the fact that I’m better at this than you are.”

Dean squared his shoulders, staring Ketch in the face. “Maybe you’re just an asshole.”

A small smirk lifted the corner of Ketch’s lips. “I might be an asshole but at least I can keep my clients.”

Dean shoved Ketch’s shoulders. He swayed on his feet but kept standing. “Is that the way it’s going to be then?”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just sneered and stepped right into Ketch’s way as he tried to slip past Dean.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting or why he felt the need to get physical. He wasn’t even sure who technically threw the first punch, all he knew was that he’d thrown his jacket on the floor and unbuttoned his wrist cuffs and Ketch had done the same. They were mostly dancing around each other, ducking and swinging until Dean overextended and lost his footing. Before he knew it he was thrown against the back of a casket, his face flat against the polished wood.

“Really, Dean? A fist fight in your place of business. I thought you’d be better than that,” Ketch said.

Dean thrust his hips backward, his ass brushing against Ketch’s groin.  He hooked his ankle around Ketch’s and pushed backward, harder. Ketch lost his balance, falling to the floor with Dean in his lap. Dean swung his legs around, knees on either side of Ketch’s waist before grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. They were both a little flushed, their chests rising and falling with each deep breath.

“You give yet?” Dean asked, panting.

Ketch scowled up at him, planting his feet on the ground before thrusting upwards and jostling Dean enough to make him lose his balance and fall forward so their chests pressed together.

“At least buy me dinner first,” Dean laughed. His laughter dissipated, however, when he could feel the hard line of Ketch’s erection against his hip.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, letting go of Ketch’s wrists and rising up. Of course, Ketch took the opportunity to flip them so that he was looming over Dean, the two still connected at the hip.

“Really, dude?” Dean asked.

Ketch raised an eyebrow, self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re an asshole,” Dean said rolling his hips. Ketch’s smirk fell and a soft groan fell from his lips.

“You don’t exactly play fair either. Though, if you didn’t have a girlfriend…”

“Meg’s not my girlfriend.”

Ketch perked up a bit, still looming over Dean. “No? You live together, don’t you? Sleep in the same bed?”

“Yeah well, she’s not… It’s a platonic life partner thing but we also have sex.”

“So a girlfriend?”

“Well, I guess if you wanna call it that but we’re not exclusive. We’ve both had other partners.”

“So she wouldn’t mind if I did this?” Ketch’s lips were on Dean’s in an instant, hot and demanding, his tongue flicking against Dean’s lips. He ground down into Dean’s crotch, brushing against his growing erection, causing Dean to gasps. Ketch then slide his tongue inside, licking at the inside of Dean’s mouth but never giving Dean the chance to reciprocate. He pulled back, hovering just out of Dean’s reach.

“Yeah… she’d uh, she’d be okay with that.”

Ketch smirked, leaning down to bite at Dean’s bottom lip.  Dean squirmed, groaning. Ketch chuckled, thick and heavy against Dean’s skin.

“Dude, let me up!” Dean said.

“Why? I’m enjoying you like this.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t let me up this ain’t gonna get very far.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ketch said, grinding his hips down and making Dean gasp, “I’m enjoying myself.”

“Asshole,” Dean huffed. “I’m not ruining these pants.”

Ketch rolled his eyes but released Dean’s wrists, his hands then pulling at the buttons on Dean’s shirt collar. Dean attempted to roll them over, but Ketch wasn’t budging, and Dean gave up in favor of tearing at Ketch’s belt and pants buttons.

Ketch wasted no time sucking on Dean’s neck and collar bones as soon as the skin was bare, biting down a little too hard and making Dean groan. He pulled Ketch’s hair, jerking him off, only for the man to stare down at him with wide eyes after his eyelids stopped fluttering. They kissed again, fighting each other the whole way.

There was more biting, most of which Dean was certain was going to bruise but he didn’t especially care. He liked the fight. Meg was good at being rough when he wanted it, but it was always an illusion of power when he was with her. Neither of them forgot the fact that Dean could easily throw her off him whenever he wanted, but Ketch was different. He was firmer, more solid. He really could pin Dean to the floor and make him fight for it.

Ketch let out a loud moan as Dean bit into his shoulder. He pushed Ketch’s shirt up and out of the way as he scraped his nails across his ribs. Dean unbuttoned his own pants before slipping them and his boxers halfway down his thighs. Ketch sat up, following suit before pouncing on Dean once again and rolling his hips. Their cocks ground together, and Dean threw his head back against the hard carpet, moaning.

He bucked up to match the rough pace. It was almost too fast and too hard, but it was what he needed. He could do much more than scratch and claw the skin of Ketch’s back digging in and hopefully leaving marks.

“Fuck!” Dean barked, digging his nails into the meat of Ketch’s ass.

Ketch groaned then chuckled, his breath hot and warm against Dean’s ear. “That all you got, Winchester?”

His words came out more as a series of pants than as a sentence, but Dean took it as a challenge nonetheless. He grabbed on to the globes of Ketch’s ass, pulling him hard into his own hips. Ketch hissed as Dean bit down on his neck, not hard enough to mark but hard enough to warn and pulled him in as he thrust upward. Ketch’s balls slid up and down against Dean’s cock and Ketch shuddered.

Dean then flipped them, this time successfully, planting his hands on either side of Ketch’s head. Dean rolled his hips hard and fast and Ketch clutched at his arms before whimpering pitifully. The buttons on Dean’s open shirt kept smacking against his stomach, hard enough to sting up not nearly hard enough for Dean to stop.

“This good enough for you?” Dean taunted, gasping when the heads of their cocks rubbed together.

Ketch groaned through gritted teeth.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“F-fuck you.” Ketch hissed. His grip on Dean’s arms tightened, and his hips jerked in an uncoordinated pattern as much as Dean would allow.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Dean leaned his weight on one hand, using the other to take both of their cocks and once and jerk them together. It only took half a dozen strokes of his hand and a few halfhearted jerks before Ketch was coming with a strangled moan. Dean jerked himself as fast as he could before he was coming, too, all over Ketch’s bare stomach. Luckily, he had the forethought to fall to his side and land on the floor.

It took a few minutes of gasping and deep breathing for Dean to register the slow clapping coming from the doorway of the showroom.

“Nice job, boys,” Meg said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Aw, fuck,” Dean groaned.

Ketch sat up but didn’t move to cover himself. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, well, you’re damn lucky I was because someone had to make sure the closed sign was up. Not that that wasn’t worthy of an audience.”

Fuck. Dean didn’t even think about it. As bad as the stupid shit was there was probably no way to lose business faster than to get caught fucking on the showroom floor. “Thanks, Meg.”

“Yeah, yeah. You want a towel or something?”

“That would be appreciated.”

“Oh, but first,” Meg said, smirking, “there is something I need to hear.”

“Please?”

“Nu-uh.”

Dean rolled his eyes and threw his arm over his face. “This changes nothing, Meg. Hate sex does not negate business rivalry nor does it put a halt on the prank war.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ketch piped up, “I was willing to call the pranks to an end before all this. And perhaps the rivalry could be dealt with by more… productive means.”

Meg snorted. “Oh come on, that clinches it.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. You were right, Meg.”

“And?” There was an obnoxious lilt in her voice and Dean just knew she was smiling.

“I was wrong.”

“Thank you,” Meg said. “I’ll get you a towel and you two can put your dicks away. And you better let me know the next time you feel like fucking it out. I might just hate both of you enough to tie you to some furniture.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ketch said.

“Now that’s what I liked to hear,” Meg said. Her footsteps grew distant as she left the room and Dean groaned. He was likely never going to hear the end of this.

“What was she right about?” Ketch asked.

“Fuck. Don’t even ask.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. I'm [here on tumblr](https://jamesnovakwinchester.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come talk to me!


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